


Your Fault

by AkelaKela



Series: Liam Dunbar [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Abusive Mr Dunbar, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Violence, Gen, Good Friend Mason Hewitt, Jenna Geyer is a precious soul, Liam Dunbar childhood, Liam Dunbar's Father - Freeform, Liam Dunbar's mother - Freeform, Liam has issues, Liam needs a hug, Liam-centric, Mr Dunbar's A+ parenting, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels kind of, Past Child Abuse, Repressed Memories, Richard Dunbar, impl, kind of, why Liam Dunbar has issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-06 21:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16395686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkelaKela/pseuds/AkelaKela
Summary: It was worse now. So much worse. The rage was worse, unbridled and all-consuming. His entire body shuddering with the effort of repressing it. He looked down at his hands, releasing the sink before he cracked it. The claw-tipped fingers trembled, his heart racing in his ears. Slowly, he clenched his fists, the claws digging into the soft flesh of his palms. Blood seeped out between his fingers, dripping into the sink, the drops dark against the shiny white bowl. He hates the claws, the fangs. Hates the thought of what they can do.Liam looked up, his teeth clenched and met his gleaming eyes. Slowly, he replayed the events that had led up to this moment."This is all your fault!" Why had he said that? He hadn't meant it. He knew it wasn't true. Scott had had no choice, he knew that.





	Your Fault

_"This is your fault."_ Liam wiped his nose, knowing Scott was probably pretending that he didn't notice his stifled sniffles. He felt tired, like he usually did after an 'episode'. His therapist and parents called them that, but his own private terminology was 'explosion'. The wry joke was a little cruel, his personal 'fuck you' to the label slapped on the thick file that sat on the desk in the therapist's office. He leaned against Scott, just a little bit. Scott smelled like Old Spice deoderant and some kind of vanilla hair wax. He'd never noticed that before, which he found weird.

Opening his eyes wider, he realised that he could smell the leaves underfoot, the cool mud bordering the path and even the detergent on his shirt. The aromas of the forest filled his nostrils, crisper and clearer than ever before.

"I jumped through the window?" He stared at the window in disbelief. The frame was all that was left, the wooden beams that had crisscrossed it were lying in pieces among the broken glass sprayed over the ground. He stared at his healed hands, the skin smooth and free of scars. 

"The cuts healed while you were changed." Thank god for small mercies he thought, remembering wall his parents had to have repaired after patching up his hands. Dr Geyer had silently cleaned and bandaged his hands, splinting the broken fingers. Liam couldn't meet his eyes. He'd completely lost it after being expelled from Devenford Prep and the 'episode' had resulted in two large holes in the dining room wall, stained at the edges with blood.

He sat on the back of the motorcycle, a tiny part of him glad of the excuse for a little more time to lay his head on Scott's shoulder. He wanted to apologise, but Scott laid a hand on his shoulder as he searched for the words, told him to take care, gave him his number and rode off before he could say anything. The full moon shone overhead and sweat bubbled up on Liam's upper lip. He rushed to his room, locking himself in the bathroom and stripping down to his shorts. The chilly air was suddenly oppressively warm and Liam splashed cold water over his face.

He stared into the mirror above the sink, taken aback by the glowing yellow eyes. He'd seen Malia and even Scott shifted, but the sight of fangs in his own mouth, the wrinkled brow and jaw sprouting facial hair he'd never had before shocked him. Everything was clearer, his vision tinted in red. He gripped the edges of the sink, his claws gouging into the white ceramic. 

It was worse now. So much worse. The rage was worse, unbridled and all-consuming. His entire body shuddering with the effort of repressing it. He looked down at his hands, releasing the sink before he cracked it. The claw-tipped fingers trembled, his heart racing in his ears. Slowly, he clenched his fists, the claws digging into the soft flesh of his palms. Blood seeped out between his fingers, dripping into the sink, the drops dark against the shiny white bowl. He hates the claws, the fangs. Hates the thought of what they can do.

Liam looked up, his teeth clenched and met his gleaming eyes. Slowly, he replayed the events that had led up to this moment.

 _"This is all your fault!"_ Why had he said that? He hadn't meant it. He knew it wasn't true. Scott had had no choice, he knew that. 

_"This is all your fault!" The sound of flesh connecting with flesh was sharp in his ears and Liam stood dumbly, staring in disbelief as his mother pressed a hand to her cheek. His father stood, hand still raised to strike again, but Liam dragged her out of the way, rushing in front of her before he could think twice. His gaze met his father's for a split second before his flinched, his arms raised to shield himself from the  anticipated blow. It never came. Tentatively, Liam lowered his hands._

_"This is all your fault." His father slurred, glaring directly at his son disgustedly, the stench of alcohol wafting from his mouth and stinging Liam's nose._

_"You shouldn't have done that." His mother mumbled as he pressed a bag of frozen vegetables to her face. It was swelling, slowly and already a furious red._

_"Why don't we leave Mom?" He whispered, his hand finding hers across the kitchen table. His eyes filled with tears as he searched her downcast gaze for an answer. Liam's long, shaggy forelock of hair hung in his eyes._

_"I don't know." She said, almost too quietly for him to hear._

_"I can't watch him hurt you." He didn't know where the words came from at just twelve years old, but Liam remembered feeling as though he had aged years in that moment. His mother was silent, her hand clutching his and he leaned forward in his chair to hug her awkwardly, partly to hide the tears threatening to fall from his own eyes and partly because he didn't know what else to do._

Liam sank to the ground, the tiled wall cold against the bare skin of his back. He had forgotten that day. How could he? It was so vivid in his mind, the smell of his father's breath, the feeling of his fingers numbing painfully, feeling frozen to the bone as he iced his mother's face. He buried his face in his hands, fresh hot tears painting his cheeks.

_Richard Dunbar wasn't always drunk. He didn't always hit his wife, didn't always blame his son for the violence. But he did it often enough. Liam didn't always spend his nights hiding in his room with his mother with the door locked. He didn't always fall asleep holding his mother pretending not to notice the tears rolling down her cheeks. But he had to often enough._

_Some days passed in a blur, school flashing by in bits and pieces he didn't care to remember. His mother always had something for him when he came home. A cookie, a hug or a kiss on the cheek. He'd do his homework at the kitchen table, pestering her for help as she cooked or washed dishes. He'd load the laundry into the washing machine, carefully sorting clothes by colour. It made her smile, even if the smile was fleeting or forced._

_Liam was thirteen when it ended. His mother had planned a birthday party and even baked a cake. He was allowed to invite his friends from school. Mason had been there. It was a great day. Until his father came home. Drunk. His mother rushed the remaining guests out of the house and was calling Mason's mother when Richard grabbed his son by the arm. Liam twisted away, his eyes on the floor._

_"Wassa matter with you? Huh?" His father grabbed his face, squeezing it roughly in his hands._

_"Let him go!" Mason charged courageously, taking hold of Mr. Dunbar's arm. It took both of his hands to wrap all the way around his arm and his efforts to free his friend were in vain. Annoyance crossed Richard Dunbar's features and he shook Mason off roughly. Mason tripped, falling backwards, his hitting the edge of the table hard._

_"Mason!" Liam struggled. His arms hurt, caught in his father's bruising grip._

_The sound of the slap rang in Liam's ears as the flat of his father's hand slammed into his face. The force of the blow splashed unshed tears down onto the collar of Liam's shirt. He could taste them on his lips._

_"I hate you! Let me go!" He spat, the venom in his voice surprising even himself. He didn't know where that had come from. Fear overshadowing his anger, he wrenched his arm free, running to his mother. She turned from the phone, shoving him behind her immediately when she caught sight of her husband advancing on them._

_"You little bastard." His father spat, grabbing him by the hair and yanking him out from behind Jenny. Liam remembered grabbing at his head reflexively, the pain in his scalp sharp. His father smacked him in the face, letting Liam fall to the ground this time. Liam's palms stung as they hit the floor. He stared down at the floorboards in shock, his chest heaving before a kick hit him in the ribs and sent him rolling into the sideboard._

_"Don't touch him!" He could see his mother's bare feet stepping in front of him. Richard drew back his fist and punched her in the face. She fell beside Liam, wrapping her arms around him. He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her hair, too terrified to move a muscle. Her arms were strong around him, her tensed shoulders defiant._

Liam wiped the tears again and again, but the wouldn't cease. They'd soaked through the knees of his jeans, staining them a darker shade of blue. 

It was so stupid, the avalanche of emotion that the long-buried memory managed the dislodge within him. Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Liam sobbed, reliving those years all over again alone on the bathroom floor. He didn’t feel like a werewolf. He didn’t feel like someone powerful enough to break through the chains he had mere hours ago. He felt like a scared twelve year old making a pathetic attempt to protect his mother. He felt like a cowed child hiding in his mother’s arms, too frightened to peek out at the world.

It was a long time before his tears dried and he stopped hiccuping. He sat there for a while, his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed. The moon shone through the window and he could feel it’s pull on him but he felt too exhausted to shift again. It was all he could do to drag himself to bed. Liam felt like a rag that had had all of the fight wrung  out of it. His mind was blank, thoughts floating through like corpses on lazy, stagnant water. Numb, he thought. That was the word for the way he felt. 

In comparison to his father, Dr Geyer was a great dad. He was a nice guy, made Liam’s mom happy and didn’t push Liam to open up to him. Liam liked him. He didn’t show the annoyance he probably felt on a daily basis having been saddled with a loose cannon for a stepson and Liam appreciated it. Dr Geyer wasn’t the problem. He was. Liam recalled the words in the brochure detailing his disorder with a cold sense of dread. It wasn’t difficult to spot the numerous causes and symptoms of IED with him. Male, with a pretty traumatic childhood, exposed to violence and substance abuse as a kid. It really shouldn't have surprised him.

The impulsive behaviour it caused detailed issues with addiction, aggression and domestic abuse. If Liam was honest with himself, he’d be hard-pressed to find someone more aggressive than he was. He'd steered clear of alcohol out of fear, mostly. Afraid that once he started he might never stop.

 _"The way they looked at me, when they saw what I did to that car."_ _He'd known the look on his mother's face all too well. She'd never been able to mask her emotions well, at least not in front of him. He'd seen that hunted look in her eyes too many times before. When he'd met cleaned the cuts on her arms and face. When she'd held him close, trying to stifle to sobs that shook her shoulders._

_The only difference was that this time, she backed away from him, the fear clouding her gaze meant for him._

Liam could still feel the crushing guilt, his throat and chest tight with it. 

-

The worst, most painful memories were the ones he'd somehow forced himself to forget. Offhandedly, he mentioned it to Scott.

"Can you forget things? Like, important things? Consciously?"

"Yeah, I guess. Depends. Why do you ask?" Scott looked up from the open textbook in front of him.

"Oh, you know. Just curious." He said glibly, praying that Scott wasn't listening to his heart.

"You can suppress or repress memories." Scott replied, turning a page without skipping a beat.

"What's the difference?" Liam plopped down in across from him, brushing his thick, overgrown hair out of his eyes.

"See for yourself." Scott slid the book across the table, tapping a section of the open page with his finger.

"Repressing memories means that you don't know what you're doing, but suppressing them means you forget consciously. Usually happens with traumatic memories." Scott explained as Liam scanned the page. The explanation was little more than a short footnote and Liam flashed a smile at Scott, sliding the book back across to him.

"Thanks! I, uh, have to get to class." He scooped up his bag and hurried off before Scott could suspect anything and switch to Concerned Alpha Mode. He skimmed over the information in his head. It must be repression. He didn't remember wanting to forget, the memory had just resurfaced with no warning. Now that he remembered, he had no clue how he'd ever forgotten.

It was in the abandoned zoo that Liam realised that his memories didn't have to be suppressed to be just as painful. Brett hadn't known much about Liam before their shared werewolf gene and fate brought them closer. Liam had been the shitty kid with anger issues he couldn't stand. The ragging wasn't meant to trigger a panic attack; it was just the team trying to get back at Liam.

But instead of attacking them like Brett had expected Liam to do, he just lay there, his arms over his head.

_The vase shattered over Liam's head, an explosion of broken pottery showering him in shards of glass and water. He hadn't forgotten this incident, though not for lack of trying._

_"Are you fucking kidding me?" His father's fists were clenched. He could see them through the gaps in his fingers, pressed to his face._

_"You're getting into fights now? You think you're tough?" He growled, snatching a picture frame from the sideboard and lobbing it at Liam's head. It missed him by mere inches, cracking in half when it hit the wall. Liam could feel his breathing, erratic and shaky, his pounding heart constricted behind his raised knees. He curled up tighter, wishing he could recede into a shell like the stupid turtle on the classroom wall at school._

_A volley of assorted decorations flew at him in quick succession. Some of them missed. Something hard hit him in the head. Something else smacked against his knuckles._

"Liam?" Brett raised a hand, silencing his jeering teammates. Tentatively, he took a step forward, beginning to wonder whether he'd really taken it too far this time. he hadn't thought much of it at first; the whole thing was meant to be a stupid frat-house style joke, nothing more than a ragging session to toughen the new kid up. Now it was starting to feel like a big mistake. Liam was supposed to get up and yell something wildly offensive he'd regret later and take a few swings at him. Liam was all bluster and fuckboy arrogance, not emotional vulnerabilities and panic attacks.

Liam felt a hand on his shoulder and recoiled, scooting as far away as he could without dropping his guard. His eyes were squeezed shut and it wasn't long before he felt the bars of the cage they were in bite into his back. There was no escape now. He steeled himself for the hands that would inevitably wrench his arms down, the bruises they'd burn into his wrists.

"Shit, Liam it's just me." He heard someone say quietly. Almost too quietly for him to hear. 

When he looked up it was into a pair of eyes, blue like his own. His arms lowered slowly, hands shaking as though he'd just lifted an enormous weight. His limbs felt like jelly. It was Brett looking at him, hands raised as though he was saying 'i'm not going to hurt you'. The embarrassment washed over Liam in a bitter, stinging wave. The entire team was just a few feet away, staring at him with nervous half-smiles on their dumb faces, like they didn't know whether to pity him or make fun of him.

The shame quickly turned to rage. Rage was always easier. Easier than pain or sorrow or fear. It wasn't difficult to convert one emotion into another. And nowadays he did it without thinking. Shame melted away, giving birth to a rage that made him shove Brett away, much harder than he needed to. It made Liam draw back his arm and punch his captain in the face so hard that he felt his knuckles split on what had to be teeth.

He'd never told Brett why he'd reacted the way he did and it was a shock when he realised that he wasn't going to be punished for losing it again. To his absolute disbelief, Brett pretended as though nothing had happened. An apology would have been nice, but Liam wasn't delusional. He could take the insults from the rest of the team with his usual threats of unspeakable violence. It puzzled him more than anything why Bret wasn't calling him a pussy and a coward. Liam should have asked Brett why, he thought. He should have asked why he had cared when he still had the chance.

It surprised him, to say the least how easily Theo read his emotions when they returned to the zoo. He wasn't sure he liked it. The way Theo talked reminded him of therapy, of feeling like a bug under a microscope. It made him feel exposed, naked and susceptible too the world around him. He'd look at Liam for a few moments, that stupid half-smirk cocked on his face before he revealed the findings of his observation in a tone that always grated on Liam's ears. Usually he'd look for a snarky comeback or even a weak threat, but today Liam was too tired. 

"If the Anuk-ite can do this to me, what's it doing to everyone else?" He asked in a small voice, too numb to regret allowing Theo a chink in his armour. Who was he kidding anyway? Theo was too perceptive to not see through the false bravado he hid behind. 

Theo kept his opinions to himself this time, tactfully concentrating on the road. The 'Little Wolf' seemed to have it worse than he'd thought. He eyed the beta in his periphery, stealthily sniffing the air. The mingling scents of anxiety and fear, forming a blanket of tension and drawn-out stress around Liam didn't surprise him. He was beginning to wonder if anything did anymore.

Liam settled into the passenger seat that smelled of cheap soap and, very faintly, blood. Grateful to the chimera for passing up an easy opportunity to needle him, he watched the monotonous scenery of the woods flash by, absentmindedly tuning his hearing in to the tyres spinning against the road. 

The Anuk-ite, the hunters, everything. It was taking a huge toll on him. The stress weighed down on his chest, preventing him from drawing a full breath at times, an ever-present burden hanging around his neck. He could feel the tether within fraying, the beast snapping at the restraints he’d trapped it in. He knew it was only a matter of time. Something would snap and he’d be all golden eyes and claws, tearing something apart. 

He’d never asked Scott how to tell his mother. Liam had been adamantly opposed to her of all people ever finding out the truth. He couldn’t let her see it. His true self.

He kind of wishes he’d asked now. Maybe he’d know what to do, what to say instead of standing there like an idiot. Now Scott was at UC Davis, a few phone calls away.

“What...what are you?” And just like that she’s crying and he can almost hear his heart begin to break. He’s hanging his head in shame, his arms hanging dumbly by his sides.

_He can remember this too. At least this memory can’t creep up behind to ambush him. He can remember standing over the shattered plate. He'd broken it on purpose. He felt like a bottle of soda that someone had shaken and shaken, building up the pressure until it could have busted. He'd hurled the plate to the floor, faintly feeling satisfied as he watched it smash, pieces of the crockery flying everywhere._

_It had been at that moment that his father had chosen to return home early from work and fear rooted Liam to the spot. He hangs his head, ashamed of his outburst and terrified of what his father will do now. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing that he'd just walk by and magically not notice the mess. But miracles don't happen like that and he doesn't._

_"What the fuck is this?" He can hear a shoe kicking at the shards of the plate._

_His eyes are still closed when his father grabs his arm and yanks him forward, across the mess he'd made. Brittle bits of the plate cut into the soles of his feet, embedding themselves into his skin._

 He closes his eyes. Not really to hide his eyes, because that would be stupid. She’s already seen them. He closes them because he knows he can’t bear to see the way he knows she’s looking at him.

They’re alone in the living room. It’s dark and curse him, he can smell the salt in her tears, pick out each emotion in the sweat he can smell collecting on her lip. Liam doesn’t move, expecting her to back away, to run away because that would be the logical approach of any sane human being. He can feel the claws stabbing into his palms and he focuses on the pain, trying in vain to block out everything around him. Moonlight streams through the open window, bathing him in its steely, frigid light. 

"So it's true. What they said about monsters." She breathes and he can't. He can barely breathe, the word hitting him like a slap in the face. He can stand being called that by the kids at school. He can stand being called a monster by the hunters, even when they're stabbing and shooting. But it's so painful when she says it. 

"I'm a werewolf." He says, feeling dumb for stating the obvious. She doesn’t care what he is. His jaw is clenched to tight he can feel his teeth creak. Dimly, he wonders why he can't change back. The whole wolf-man getup can't be helping the situation. He's repeating the mantra, but it doesn't help. All it does is remind him how stupid he's been to think he can hide the truth, how this is all _his fault._

 _"You're not a monster. You're a werewolf. Like me."_  Liam says in his head. He wants, needs her to say it. To tell him he's still her son, that she's not scared of him. But he can smell the fear in the air and it's so potent, so overpowering that he just turns and leaves, wanting to claw his own ears out of his head when he hears his mother sink to the floor in tears.

He wanders around the forest that night, unwilling to face anyone, not even Mason. He can't say it. Can't make what just happened real. So he runs through the forest, flying over the ground on all fours, howling his grievances to the moon, smiling benevolently down at him from the night sky. In the end he curls up on the floor, wishing he could shift fully like Derek. Maybe the leaves and stones he was lying on would feel more comfortable if he could.

Liam doesn't really sleep and climbs through his window the next morning. It's weird, but he feels guilty. Like he doesn't belong in his own house anymore. Over a week passes by in radio silence. he can't even bring himself to talk to Dr. Geyer because what if he knows? Liam can't deal with all of that again. So he drags himself from home to school and around the town, occasionally patrolling with Theo. Theo, damn him, is as perceptive as ever and seems to get wind of the problem before Liam even closes the door of his truck. They drive for a few minutes in silence before Theo can’t help it anymore.

"Goddamn, Dunbar. What happened?" He turns into the preserve and cuts the engine but makes no move to get out. 

"I'm fine." Liam lies, because shit, he really needs to learn how to alter his scent. He's probably already stinking up the truck with his anxiety.

"Cut the shit and spit it out." Theo says, the usual expression of knowing boredom settling over his features.

"My mom found out, okay? Now can we please go and do our jobs?" Liam says, louder than he meant to and stalks off, slamming the door of the truck.

"Hey watch it!" Theo feigns indignation, stroking the bonnet.

They patrol in silence that day, Liam distracted and sullen. Theo doesn't push for conversation and heads to Liam's house when night falls.

"Um, actually can you drop me at Mason's?" Theo looks up from the road, eyebrows raised in a calculated question. He doesn't say anything, though and turns the truck around without comment. It's a few minutes before he finds the right words.

"You're going to have to face her sometime. You know that, right?" He says, quietly.

"I know. I just can't do it today. It'll be bad, I know it." They leave it at that, parked outside Mason's house. Liam mumbles a goodbye, grabs his backpack and closes the door of the truck behind him, gently this time.

When he walked into the living room, expecting to find Mason sprawled on the couch with his laptop or a book, he came face to face with his mother. He felt like someone caught red-handed, guilt and consternation drenching him as though someone had upended a bucket of icy water over his head. He froze, his eyes meeting hers for a few moments before he dropped them.

"I was, uh, looking for Mason." He mumbled, regretting the words the minute they left his mouth. Well, of course he was looking for Mason. What else would he be looking for in Mason's house?

"I'm worried about you Liam."

"I'm fine mom." He choked out, wishing she would just leave. 

He heard her take a deep breath, smelling the anxiety and fear wafting through the air.

"I love you, Liam."

"No you don't." He whispered. "No you don't, you're scared of me." He breathed, almost too softly for her to hear.

"I'm not." She stood, taking a tentative step towards him.

"Don't lie to me. Please. I know you're lying, you stink of fear and I know you're lying to me, just please don't. We don't have to do this." He rambled, the sudden word vomit surprising even himself. His fingers worry the seams sewn in the strap of his bag, picking at the threads nervously.

"Liam, I'm worried and scared and I don't know what's going on, but I love you. You're still my baby." Liam wanted to believe it, wanted so badly to un to her and bury his face in her shirt, to cry on her shoulder and let her make everything better. But he didn't move. He couldn't. Couldn't watch her back away or look at him like that. Not again. So he stood stock-still, his head hanging.

"Liam, look at me, please." He heard her cross the room, finding himself suddenly staring down at her shoes, the toes millimetres from his. He feels her hands on his face cupping it gently. She's shaking like a leaf. Liam closes his eyes, steeling himself from leaning into her touch. He lets her stroke his face though, lets her run her fingers through his hair like he's a dog who might bite her if she isn't careful.

"What happened to you Liam?" She asks and he can hear the tears gathering in her throat. He wants to tell her, wants to pour his heart out about everything. But only two words come out.

"I'm sorry mom." He squeezes his eyes shut, feels the tears trickling out. Slowly, her arms wrap around his neck and he notices that she has to reach up to do it. It's odd, stupid even to notice it now, but he's suddenly taller than her and she's standing on her tip-toes to reach him. He can feel a sob rising in his chest and he leans down, lays his head on her shoulder, arms hanging by his sides.

"I'm sorry mom. I'm just like him, I'm so sorry." He doesn't remember wrapping his arms around her, but suddenly his trembling hands are holding her close and she's stroking his hair like she used to when he was tiny and she could still lift him clean off the floor. She doesn't say anything at first, just presses a kiss to his cheek and strokes his head.

Then Jenna Geyer pulls him away, holding his head up, forcing him to meet her eyes. She wipes at the sticky tears on Liam's cheeks and kisses his forehead.

"You're not like him. I promise." And for now, that's all that her son needs to hear.


End file.
